


Do Not Disturb

by Larathia



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larathia/pseuds/Larathia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Avengers, any, lying down in a darkened room with a headache.</p>
<p>No one would expect Tony Stark to stint on the partying on New Year's Eve, but he's a bit useless the next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Disturb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peaceful_sands](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=peaceful_sands).



Clint was jabbing irritatedly at the television remote when Steve emerged from his room around dawn. "The remote's broken," he complained. "I checked, the battery's fine, but it won't turn up the volume."

Steve absently combed his fingers through his short blond hair and started the coffee. "Jarvis won't let you. Tony's got standing orders about decibel limits before 3pm on New Year's Day."

Clint pursed his lips. "So if I skip the TV and go for target practice..."

"You'd better be doing it on the lower levels," Steve nodded, fishing eggs out of the fridge. Tony never cooked, that was one of many things he thought robots were good for, but he kept a well-stocked kitchen. "So. Up early, or just not been to bed yet?"

"Haven't been to bed yet," Clint shrugged. "Tasha's working. So I'm monitoring comms. Only I like to multitask."

"Quiet but not dead, I take it," Steve confirmed. "Breakfast?"

"Four eggs, extra sausage, and bacon," said Clint at once, without looking around. It was well known around the Stark residence that once Steve Rogers _started_ cooking breakfast, the smell tended to draw everyone in the house to the kitchen and if you didn't ask for exactly as much as you wanted you'd likely leave the table hungry as someone else took up the cooking time.

Steve just laughed quietly and started portioning out the sausage. "You really have been up all night to be that hungry. No New Year's Eve parties?"

"I leave that crap to Tony," said Clint. "I prefer to watch from a safe distance."

Which was one of those things that was so obvious as to defy any sort of comment. Just as Steve liked doing things the old fashioned way, avoiding prepackaged meals and doing his cooking from scratch. And if a man knowing his way around a kitchen bespoke said man's dismal marriage opportunities if viewed through a 1930s lens, well, it was a much appreciated skill in the twenty first century and nobody in residence - not even technophile Tony - was going to argue about it.

Bruce woke up to join them somewhere around the second pot of morning coffee, and ordered three eggs and a stack of bacon before joining Steve in the cooking, handling the bacon himself in companionable pre-caffeination silence. 

No one was surprised that Tony didn't put in an appearance. Clint got his stack of eggs, Bruce his pyramid of bacon, and Steve had time to make his own breakfast and finish it, and then gather up everyone's dishes to start the washing-up, and still Tony Stark did not appear.

Around half past eleven, kitchen cleaned without any robotic assistance whatsoever, Steve asked thoughtfully, "So when _did_ Tony get back?"

"About half past three," said a new, unfamiliar female voice - which got all three men's heads to turn in the quick snap of potential threat reaction, but whoever she was, she was halfassedly wearing one of Tony's shirts and nothing else, and looked _horribly_ hung over. "...Is there coffee?"

Steve was the one to duck back into the kitchen - the woman clearly needed coffee and he never really knew what to do about underdressed women. "Just a few minutes."

She sat on a chair, the absent posing of her legs suggesting a career in modeling - not unusual for one of Tony's overnighters - and vaguely tried to untangle the worst of the disheveled mess of her hair.

Clint really _could_ ignore mostly-naked-model, if only because if for any reason he couldn't Natasha tended to use it against him, and the games could be painful. "So, how's Tony?"

"Still out," said the model, only looking over hopefully at the sound of percolating coffee. "Came out here because there wasn't any light in the bedroom, couldn't find my clothes."

_Excuse me, miss Stevensen,_ interrupted Jarvis' mellow voice. _Your clothes are being cleaned and ironed, and when you are ready I will guide you to a guest room where you may freshen up and dress. Would you prefer to have a taxi ready when you have?_

That got a raised eyebrow from Clint - it was rather more consideration than he expected from Tony Stark's programming. Then Steve emerged with the cup of coffee, and he made a small 'ah' sound. Of course Steve would have had words about turning a half-awake woman out, even with a cab.

She drank it down gratefully, and then followed a laser pointer light to a guest room. It took a good hour for her to re-emerge, and she looked ready for a photo shoot when she did. She left in a cab with a cheerful wave.

And still, no Tony Stark.

"Jarvis, does he _ever_ get up before three on New Year's Day?" asked Steve, a bit worried. 

_It has been known to happen, Mr. Rogers,_ said Jarvis, inciting a brief snort of laughter from Clint, who for reasons lost on Steve found 'Mr. Rogers' a hilarious rather than polite form of address. _And before you ask, I do not recommend knocking on his door, or opening it and turning on the lights. I am obliged to inform you there is contingency programming in place._

Steve made a small, frustrated sound, and Clint offered, "Let's hold a betting pool on the exact time. Closest guess wins, exact match wins double, nobody asks Jarvis for an average."

Bruce won, with the guess of 3:37 pm. And even so, the pale and headachy Tony Stark looked like he could have used a few more hours in the dark and quiet of his room.


End file.
